


Rootless: Through the Looking-Glass

by Ribby



Series: Rootless [1]
Category: The Prestige
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-22
Updated: 2007-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-15 10:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/160062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ribby/pseuds/Ribby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after it's all over... when those who are left must pick up the pieces and all is topsy-turvy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rootless: Through the Looking-Glass

**Author's Note:**

> More in my Fallon/Root universe, but post-movie. This is actually one of two pieces about Root's fate. I got to thinking, well, he just disappears... so what happened? Root's speech is from _Much Ado About Nothing_ , Claudio's eulogy for Hero.

  
It's only once he returns to his (coldly empty) rooms that what has happened hits Borden, and he begins to shake, and here in the privacy of his rooms, to cry. Cry for the loss of a brother, dearer than life itself, for the loss of one who could have been a lover, beloved even through the hate (for, he admits to himself, love and hate are so close... who's to say which he felt).

He cries quietly, even now mindful of what others may hear, but deeply, racking sobs that feel like part of him is tearing loose with each hitched breath. Appropriate, and nearly as painful. One anguished scream works itself loose, and then he cannot stop, raging to a god he no longer believes in at the unfairness of it all.

When he is cried hollow, feeling strangely light and disconnected, he lies on the floor, curled around himself, hugging memories of his brother to him. Standing finally, light-headed but calmer, he decides that he will properly wake his brother, and Angier. He will drink, and he will remember, even if not out loud.

Putting on a coat, and hat, he finds himself drifting past people on the street, seemingly formless. He passes one pub, then another, then another, and then stops. _Here, yes, this is right._ It is the pub not too far from the theater, the pub where they would go after their performances--he and Angier, he and Sarah, and he and his brother. This would do well--all his relationships, waked in one night.

The pub is dark and smoky, and busy in the late evening, crowded with working-men, buzzing with talk. It takes him some time to get a pint, and then some time more to find a table, preferably alone.

When the crowd opens up, he spots a table in the back corner, almost empty except for one dark-haired man sitting, head on his arms. _A fellow-sufferer,_ he thinks, _perhaps he won't mind me joining him._ He weaves through the mass of people to the table, and is about to put his drink down when the man looks up.

"Look, I... Freddie?"

The man's face is a study in emotion--shock, pain, anger, and then finally, weary recognition and despair... and Borden knows that his face reflects those emotions. His mouth shapes Angier's name, but does not say it, for the man is Gerald Root. Angier's double, Angier's dupe... and his reflection. And Borden is the cause of his pain--for obviously, his brother was Root's friend, perhaps even his lover.

"May I?" He asks quietly.

Root waves a nonchalant hand--and Borden pretends he does not see how it shakes. "Go ahead... 's a free country." _God above, even his voice is the same!_

He sits, and sips his beer, saying nothing until his voice and emotions are under at least some control... he cannot stop the parade of images behind his eyes, but he can at least control what he says.

"I miss him too, you know."

Root laughs, bitterness coating the sound. "Oh, I bet you do... but you lost a brother--I lost the man who could have made my life happy." That bitter-edged smile again at Borden's start of surprise. "He never told you, did he? He wanted something that was his and his alone, that he didn't have to share with you. Nice to know he got it."

Borden drinks deeply to cover his confusion. He has had little to eat all day, and the beer is starting to make him muzzy-headed. Perhaps that is the cause of his sudden candor when he comments, "I lost a lover in your twin, you know."

Root smirks. "I know... he thought your brother was you, that one night, and I really didn't see the use of disabusing him of that notion."

Borden clamps down on the surge of anger that would have him hurling himself at Root's smirk. _He is hurting, as I am... this is how he shares that hurt._ He sighs instead. "Do we have to argue? I knew my brother, you knew Robert... perhaps we could share what we knew with each other. Some alcohol, some memories, a right proper wake they'd both appreciate."

Surprisingly, Root nods, and snatches up the bottle in front of him. "Yeah, maybe. Get another bottle... we'll need it." Alfred... _no, Albert now,_ he reminds himself, purchases another bottle of the cheap rotgut whisky from the bartender, and winds his way out of the pub to where Root waits.

"Where to?"

"Your rooms?"

"Yeah, okay."

Borden follows Root through the city streets, keeping up easily. He stumbles once, but Root is beside him, and the arm that slips around his shoulder feels far too good--he leans in, knowing with his head that the man beside him is not the one he wants, but knowing with his heart it's what he can have. He's not sure whether to be relieved or nervous when Root returns the affection, tightening his arm around Albert's shoulders.

Once in the privacy of Root's rooms, which are slightly shabby, and a mess (though truly, Borden realizes he is noticing such things to avoid looking at Root), they each take a bottle and sit and drink in silence for a while, thinking and remembering.

Root's voice, lifted in his perfect stage intonation, breaks the silence:

"Done to death by slanderous tongues  
Was the Hero that here lies:  
Death, in guerdon of his wrongs,  
Gives him fame which never dies.  
So the life that died with shame  
Lives in death with glorious fame."

Alfred recognizes Shakespeare, but he has no idea of the source. "Beautiful... and you're right, that's it. Glorious fame." He drinks. "Here's to fame... spiteful bitch."

Root's bitter laugh says more than his words. "That she is. And fate, who's screwed us both over. Here's to them both!"

Alfred glances over at him, struck by the tremor in his voice, and is shocked to see that Root is crying... silently, but the tears pour down his face unchecked. Perhaps it's the resemblance, but more likely it's his own pity and pain that allows him to move to Gerald, to take him in his arms and let him cry against his chest. Neither knows, later, who initiates the kiss--but they kiss madly, wildly, tasting each other's sorrow, searching for the taste of one lost, and finding only an echo.

It's that kiss, and the taste of Gerald's tears that bring out Alfred's grief and sorrow, and in the midst, he thinks, "Pain shared is pain halved--perhaps we can heal each other." But healing will be a long time coming, he knows, for they have each lost half of themselves, and in each other, gained only a shadow.

They cling to each other, weeping. Grieving each for a lover lost, for a twin lost, and for what might have been. They weep, knowing that they will always be second-best to each other, and knowing that however much comfort they can give, there will always be pain... for reflections have no substance, and are always cold.


End file.
